It's not the heat, it's the broken A/C

When we bought our house, we were delighted to learn it had central air, something I always associated with bank presidents and astronauts. I still think it's a boon, a lucky thing to have, and I've been grateful for it every torrid spell for 22 years.

So when did it decide to die? Of course: at the start of the hot spell. The problem, apparently, was the high-pressure valveotron, which is connected to a low-pressure gromulator.

I'm paraphrasing from what the repairman said, which sounded like dialogue in a "Star Trek" episode. I was tempted to bark, "Invert the coil polarity on the gromulator! Make it so!" But I nodded with interest, because I am a guy and we have to pretend we understand these things on a molecular level.

Then he used words I could understand: There was a blockage (good, got that) in the coil (getting a bit techy, but I'm still with you) in the attic unit.

I knew about the attic, of course, but 22 years in the house and I had no idea that the A/C was in the attic. I thought it was the big whirring thing on the side of the house. But I nodded. Yes, the attic.

Here's the thing, I told him. My wife is coming home in an hour. I want her to walk in the house and get hit with a blast of air so cold she wonders whether we're storing slabs of meat or furs in the dining room. Maybe both. Slabs of meat wearing furs. This will make her happy. What can we do?

There were three options. No. 1: Refill the coolant. Because it probably had a leak, this would be like stacking up several engravings of Ben Franklin and setting them on fire, and if there's one thing about the portrait of Ben on a $100, his characteristic expression of amusement and disappointment says that he fully expects you to do something that stupid.

Could you park at the end of the block and keep your foot on the brake for a couple of days, until we get through this hot spell? Only if he kept billing me by the hour for his time, so probably not.

Second option? Replace the coil. This cost the amount of money I associated with a new car when I was in grade school. "So will it work as long as a 1964 Chevy Impala, then?"

He cut right to the pith of the matter: "How long do you plan to stay in this house?"

"Let's put it this way: When they total up the times I entered and left the house, it will be an odd number."

In that case, he recommended replacing the whole thing. In the past month I've had two expensive plumbing jobs and a tree that decided to impersonate the Leaning Tower of Pisa and had to be removed lest it fall and take out the fence and the power lines, so sure, let me wander back to the shed and cut open another golden goose. Matter of fact, gas prices being what they are, I think I'll drive to the shed.